Presently: eaves are dripping with these beautiful and violent looking icicles. Outside feels more like March. An owl that hoots loudest at 7am, puts Radish in a panic. Cantaloupe uterus. Melonbelly, shrinking navel depth, shrinking self-image. But my fingernails look marvelous. For the first time in my life – boobs; terrifically lopsided areolas. Kinda less of a moody loser. Fetus nicknames, Cricket, Io, Ermengarde. Twentysomething weeks. Pumpkin biscuits. Penguin, seahorse and marmoset fathers. My own father is dying. Hexagram 49.
Adoption. Debatable. Heartsick.
September: I knew it would end badly when I saw the dead dog on the side of the road. Wavy white Falkor fur, sort of shimmering. On the radio was a really disagreeable song with albatross in the lyrics. We were on our way back to Fox from Hilltop, I had eaten a superb slab of pie called the Fat Man, read the Sunday paper. It was snowing one of those scantily snows. C took me to the Turtle Club, I don't know why. I ordered lobster, I don't know why. Two tails at seventy-five market price. I knew things would worsen because something like missus gregorian chant was on the sound system. C is, above all, a mouthy boorish jerkface. I've met toddlers with superior manners. Before our entrees were brought out, something he said had me scamper off to the restroom fanning my face, I have never peed and cried at the same time. I have also never eaten cold lobster from a to-go box.
Norwegian kelp. Stinging nettle leaf. Chia seeds. Shmearing coconut oil all over with a bemused grimace. Nurse midwife Diane, she's funny. La Croix sparkling water in lime. Jiro Dreams of Sushi. You Have No Home to Go Back to. Ultrasound; technician asks Are you here alone today? I shuffle into the room with my all black crap maternity wear and am moved to tears by the bony images on the screen. (See, I'm fine.) I order peppermint tea with honey and tell my mother the sex.
August: quickening. Chocolate. CHOCOLATE. Zwetschgendatschi. Ginger lemon candy. Manu Chao. A Little Princess (1986). "Why do I want to eat bread all the time?" Exhaustion. Campfire bats.
Throughout: screwy dreams. Runny nose 24/7. So many books. So many snacks. Waking up thirsty. Forgetting.
Sunday the 13th of July 2014, 8:04am
My hands could pass for nine thousand years old, like maybe they belong to a peat bog mummy. Clunky, splitting, engine red. Whoever adds the bleach to the sanibucket at work is out for my undoing. Americans measure in glugs, because more is better. Fucking morons. Work. Oh, fuck me. I can list all that is backwards with that counterfeit kitchen in two grumpy breaths, but it will exhaust me, and I go in for a 9 o'clock shift to hopefully fuck up breakfast and get good and fired, because I've slept so well! I woke up around fiveish with earplugs in designed for firing guns, because the mosquitos here are ferocious hissing bastards, my face and arms and feet awash in puffed bites. I've smooshed dozens between my mangled paws since waking and all have been bloody fatties. I am drinking coffee out of a "World's Nicest Grandma!" mug, complete with #1 trophy decal, the same one I used to pour boxed wine into and text D'Alessio about my pride in maintaining classy morning drunkenness, the nice flow into afternoon drinks, wasted by 1. This burbly dope goulash of hormones has made me not miss booze so much, but if I close my eyes and groan I can almost feel all my past drunken states and I salivate a tad. Ganachakra. February, happen sooner. I just hope my baby has a sense of humor, healthy is too common a motherly wish; those extra toes is where all the funny comes from, maybe. I will smoke until I grow lumpier, then, hard candies and lots of chewy stick shaped doohickeys for comfort. I need a good hard slap in the face.
Thursday the 3rd of July 2014, 11:48pm
Lists of fluctuating emphasis,
1. Items in purse that withstood the Rabinowitz Courthouse security scanner yesterday,
-3 pinecones, collected from the ground near Hot Licks on College Rd
-Spoon that had been used for honey yogurt weeks earlier
-Neon green party flute from Missi's birthday in May. Life begins at forty
-6oz Dole pineapple juice, tinged with rust, purchased at Fox General Store when the rain fell and fell
-Raveling embroidery floss darkened by tobacco flecks, will make bracelets for Russell's grandchildren
-Dogeared Junot Diaz, POOR OSCAR
-Key necklace from C, bundled very tight, because
-Pereline brass lighter, unusable
-handful of cinnamon toothpicks
-4 chapsticks, 3 bustokens, 2 nailfiles, 1 loose OB tampon
Basically, my purse made me look insane, and also, I am nesting in small ways. Oh, and I set off the metal detector with my godawful hair
2. Some transmutations,
-this webspace (?) / myself, now equals Sobriety City! Uh, congratulations
-sex becoming more and more silly, banal, lumbering, nonessential
-the taste and smell and appearance of all matter; memory structure and splendor of detail; each waking second resembles LSD
-the last is a secret
3. Some dumpfinds,
-Justin black lace-up boots
-Deck of Gypsy Witch fortune telling playing cards
-Moccasins, 2 pairs, one of which makes me feel Sherwoodian, the other, like a grandmother
-The Bear's Toothache, given to Nicholas
-Defaced paperbacks, at least 100+ in a garbage sack, some titles fished out, with a random sentence: Ape and Essence Copulation resulted in population—with a vengeance!, New York After Dark But it was sex with a bite, unholy with delights. It was exhibitionistic, educational, ritualistic, Notorious Ladies of the Frontier No vulgarity permitted in this house, Painless Childbirth Notice that I said "fully awake"
4. Reduction of month into snippet into nothing,
I. JAN strained, kerosene infused, broken, questionable
II. FEB Steel Reserve, gin+oj, Cooper's psychosis, acidic
III. MAR Blue Loon (Gloom), too many shooters to count, crass, melty
IV. APR left Lungs, relief, leaves a'buddin
V. MAY Elliott Hwy alchemy, Trapper Creek Bluegrass
VI. JUN a lot of walking, I'll chop you down like an old dead tree
Friday the 20th of June 2014, 3:33am
Lord have mercy, christ have mercy; Hail Mary, full of grace, the kids are into Satan. Heartfelt. I am pissing all the time, meaning only one thing: potential pregnancy, month-in. Wanted? Perhaps. It; him, her, both, either, or; will give me a reason to dry up, grow up, take as gospel. Love. Dream into the ocean. My heart sinks to my belly & I forget all those things I despise. I am back to the cold perfect lake, drunkish on a black box all by my lonesome, because Ma went to bed for an early shift & I am listening to Otis Redding, A Change is Gonna Come, on gchat with my bestest friend in Bellingham, talking about Lovecraftian nerdy D&D shit, and telepathic connections with fatty ass freckled flying squirrels who eat pumpkin seeds from the hand of god with nimble pink fingers, and Dharma Wheels on pretty cheeky faces, and I want to cry for an eternity into the softest, cushiest, most feminine and furry of chests because I am so, so happy to be Home, home, where everything makes the most sense, where I curl up like a pill bug, and not a bad word was ever uttered. It is misty and ethereal and damn near heavenly. I will come back later, because this bleary page needs updating from the depths of Jones hell, and I am a drunk ass broke ass dirty ass loose sutures ass scroungy ass not bleeding enough ass, and I have stories to tell. I missed you, I missed you, oh fuck. This whole evening feels like a Jason Molina song. I hope you all are well.
Friday the 31st of January 2014, 8:08am
Internet, I will come back to you, dunno when, I am off to live in a lopsided cabin without water or electricity. Pretty awful and exciting and smelly. I will think of you fondly, et cetera. Oh yeah, I turned twenty six on the 26th. Bag o bones, purple birthday flowers, a dreamcatcher, a snoring boyfriend.